


Reconstruction

by Mirabai0821



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullenlingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 19:41:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4492221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirabai0821/pseuds/Mirabai0821
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before anything can be rebuilt, what exists must first be razed.</p><p>He will destroy her.</p><p>She will restore him.</p><p>Together they will be reconstrcted.</p><p>And made whole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Destruction

**Author's Note:**

> Pure delicious unadulterated smut because sometimes you just need it.  
> TW: for use of a gendered insult.

Can’t focus, there’s a piercing light in his eyes and in his brain but it doesn’t hurt it just shines.  
 

Because it’s her.  
 

Skyhold is drenched in snow, blanketed by it, held close like a lover on a cold night. She makes tracks in it, kicks it, eats a little bit of it when no one’s watching.  
 

And he remembers she’s from Ostwick, all sandy beaches and green forests. She’s probably seen snow before but not so thick and white and delicious like this.  
 

She’s delicious as he watches her, playing with Cole, dumping snow down his back.  
 

She’s delicious.  
 

And he’s gotta have her.  
 

“Howling, hardened. He’s hungry. Aching, sweating, he’s hurting without pain.”  
 

“Cole?” Evelyn asks, looking for a little bit more clarification.  
 

But his shadow disappears as a larger one looms.  
 

Cullen.  
 

“Commander,” she smiles playfully and that snowball in her hand suddenly becomes a deadly weapon. But his huge, searching, itching, hands catch her before she do him harm.  
 

His grip is tender, as it always it, but it’s demanding. He does not speak, his eyes do it for him.  
And he doesn’t look like her Commander anymore, not under the pall of lust that’s shaded the gold of his eyes almost black.  
 

He looks like a predator.  
 

And he just caught her.  
 

“Inquisitor,” his voice trembles. “Come with me please.”  
 

He doesn’t have to drag her, she comes willingly.  
 

Oh yes, she will come willingly.  
 

**  
There’s steam wafting off him as the snowflakes sizzle away from his skin. His face is red and it’s nothing to do with cold. Once inside the relative safety of her quarters, he surprises himself with how well he keeps himself under control.  
 

It’d be nothing to demand she strip for him, to rip her clothes off her his damned self but no, he bides. He’s patient, loving even as he peels the leather and fur and cloth away from her. He leaves kisses in the wakes of his fingertips, sweet little things that make her shiver with love.  
 

They are apologies in advance.  
 

They are nude now.  
 

“Well, you got me like this,” she teases shifting her weight back and forth on the balls of her feet. “What are you gonna do with me?”  
 

Sweet girl.  
 

Poor. Sweet. Girl.  
 

She’s pressed against the wall before she can laugh, breasts scratching and chaffing against the cold stone. His length is pressed against her, screaming to get between the soft roundness of her beloved backside.  
 

“I’m going to destroy you,” he mutters in her ear. “Utterly. Tell me you want this.”  
 

He almost wishes she’d say no, so he can calm the inferno, the hellscape that is burning the insides of him to cinders. He’ll make love to her slowly and sweetly and he’ll will away the ruinous lust coursing through him.  
 

“You can try.” She challenges, pressing back against him.  
 

Oh, Maker help her.  
 

He does not kiss her, he bites, sinking teeth that feel like fangs into the fleshiest parts of her neck. He feels her shudder ripple under him and she presses tighter to him.  
 

“H..harder.” She stutters overcome by her own torturous lust. She wants this, didn’t know she wanted it until just now.  
 

Ruin me. Break me. Tear me apart.  
 

Do anything to me.  
 

As long as it’s you.  
 

He complies and bites her just a little bit harder, he doesn’t break skin but he’ll leave a bruise. An accomplishment considering the earthy darkness of her skin. His tongue soothes the bite, laving at her, muscle dipping into the divots his teeth left behind.  
 

He marked her.  
 

He did that.  
 

Him.  
 

And only he can.  
 

That intimate knowledge, the knowing that he possesses the most powerful woman in Thedas so thoroughly makes him moan like a whore in the Blooming Rose.  
 

And she answers him with her own cry, pressing back against him, demanding that he _take. More._  
 

He bites her everywhere his teeth can get good purchase. On her earlobes, her back, the swell of thigh just under her ass, her ass. Damn, does he bite the fuck out of her ass; like he wants to eat her, like if pulls his teeth away he wants the flesh to come with it.  
 

He wants to consume her. Bring her essence into him and thus make himself whole.  
 

He stays on his knees behind her.  
 

“Open.”  
 

She obeys, exposing herself to him, her dripping, delicious cunt.  
 

He licks from the satin nub to the point where her bottom lips seal together. He drags his tongue along the hot length of her, drinking her and her moans down with every pass. Rough fingers hold her obscenely open to him so he can get deeper. She tries to help by rutting her hips against his mouth.  
 

“Stop! Do not move.”  
 

She stills, whimpering, begging him with babbles to ease the fire in her cunt.  
 

“Fuck me, Maker, fuck me please.”  
 

Her knees shake, her toes curl against the carpeted floor but she doesn’t come.  
 

He won’t let her.  
 

He hasn’t given her _permission_ yet.  
 

He withdraws his tongue, replaces it with hard fingers shoved not as deep as she’d like inside of her.  
 

“Tell me how it feels Inquisitor, moaning like this, like a whore.”  
 

It is anathema to call her such. He’d never dream it, he’d cut off his tongue before he would ever utter it in her presence or her reference. But he tests how it tastes on his tongue.  
 

And it tastes good.  
 

And the way her cunt _squeezes_ him, it tastes good to her too.  
 

“You like that don’t you, _whore_?”

She moans again, louder, and her hips move, aching for more friction.  
 

“Yes,” she breathes.  
 

Cullen rises to stand. She yells, indignant and sobbing and sodden, her ardor glistening down her thighs.  
 

Quick, harsh tugs and throws and she’s on her back on her bed.  
 

One sure thrust and he’s inside of her.

Nails are in his back, red welts appearing as she tears his flesh.  
 

This was not smooth or tender, he fucks her with wild abandon screaming at her as she screams for him.  
 

“Then come you wanton little whore. Come for me.”  
 

He makes the bed move with his thrusts, the iron and wood Orlesian monstrosity he makes moves with his cock buried inside the only woman in the world he would ever let have it.  
 

“Take me, take it all. You're my sweet little whore and you were made for me to fuck.”  
 

She does as bid, taking him, all of him, quaking under his power. She is resigned to his possession; the ache in her flesh and between her legs so fucking incredible that she loses her Maker-damned mind.  
 

“Cullen! Yes! Fuck your whore Cullen!”  
 

She comes and it destroys her.  
 

She twists and writhes and bends under the pressure of her released passion. And dear Maker the way she fuses around him...  
 

“Fuck, Evelyn, Maker fuck!”  
 

He comes and he is destroyed.  
 

It feels like swimming in air the way he floats down to lay next to her. He feels like his arms are moving through syrup or laden with barely moveable weights.  
 

But he reaches for her anyway, and pulls her close to his chest. They are both shining with the sweat of their exertion, sticky between their thighs as their juices pool and chill in the air.  
 

He aches in his back, and in his thighs.  
 

She just aches.  
 

They lay there panting, minds still reeling, fuzzy, and inchoate.

And they are destroyed.


	2. Restoration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the reviews. Y'all are awesome.

It is snowing when she wakes. Light and soundless on the wind, like falling cotton.

 

Evelyn wakes and is frightened for a moment because she cannot move her body. Her muscles are locked and sore, though if she applies a bit more force she can get cracking bone and tender muscle to move.

 

The ache that sings in her blood is heavenly. The throb in her thighs is rapturous. The remains of his teeth marks sting like millions of little needles poking her flesh and she feels

 

Glorious.

 

Reborn.

 

Brand fucking new.

 

Evelyn turns to her lover and he’s so deep asleep he’s snoring, loudly. Scraping nasally noises that sound like a sawmill. He _never_ snores because his nightmares make him a light sleeper. That he is snoring now, tells her he too was well and thoroughly fucked.

 

She ain’t moving today, that much she knows.

 

The Inquisition can go fuck itself just for today because her baby is sleeping so sweetly and she ain’t gonna let work wake him.

 

That’s her privilege.

 

She feathers kisses down the side of his torso, traveling under the sheets, counting scars and the definitions of his muscles with her lip, a little bit of tongue.

 

And maybe, just maybe, a little bit of teeth too.

 

Cullen startles awake yelping, more a laugh than a scream.

 

“There seems to be a mabari in my bed,” he groans, voice hoarse from the disuse of sleep.

 

He hears an eager bark from under the covers and feels a wet tongue lap against him, licking the cleft in his hips.

 

The mabari finds her bone, hard and delectable, but she knows better than to bite.

 

She licks.

 

Root and stem, she licks a line of pure arousal from his base to his head and Maker, his moan will probably wake the keep.

 

So she makes him do it again.

 

Just to make sure.

 

So if Leliana decides to send the servants to rouse them, they’ll know why they ain't coming to this morning's meeting.

 

And coming in _other_ places.

 

One hand reaches for her to fist in the kinked roots of her twisted up and matted vines of hair, while the other throws off the blankets so he can watch her mouth swallow him down.

 

She gazes up at him through fluttering black lashes that make her cognac colored eyes seem larger and more expressive. Her gaze spears him in the gut with another lance of arousal and he bleeds his pleasure through the pearlescent drops of liquid that bead at the tip of his head. Pearls that she greedily laps up, a kitten at a bowl of milk.

 

“Whore,” he teases again.

 

The epithet makes her moan around his cock and she sucks him harder.

 

He heaps upon her filthy encouragements that only drive her faster against his throbbing length.

 

“You look so good sucking my cock Inquisitor. Good little cocksucker, good little whore.”

 

He tries to keep going but he falls apart, only able to moan and pant until she stops, popping off his cock like she needs the air.

 

She climbs up his body and positions her aching, dripping slit above him.

 

Tight fingers snatch blond curls, his neck snaps up to bring them face to face, nose to nose.

 

“Watch your whore fuck you Cullen.”

 

She releases him with a flick of her wrist, throwing his head away like so much trash.

 

But he was commanded to watch, so he does. He watches as she sinks down on him, and she watches him watch her. Their eyes are locked, unable to pull away from the maddening sight of his length completely disappearing within her. Sinking home, joining, they are made whole.

 

_Restored._

 

Cullen can’t hold it, his head dips back into the pillows, body given wholly over to the sensation of her rippling and tightening around him.

 

“I said watch me, whoreson. Watch me fuck you.” She hisses through clenched teeth, accommodating the burn of his cock buried within her. She hasn’t recovered from her brutal fucking the night before, it stings her.

 

She loves it.

 

Cullen is stubborn, he won’t... _can’t_ listen. She feels too good, his eyes can’t keep open. So she grips his hair again, yanking some hairs out at the root. His hips jerk up in reflex, striking the deepest parts of her. He moans, cock twitching, threatening to release far too early, but she's far too good.

 

“Watch!”

 

He obeys.

 

He watches her breasts bounce as she rides him to an early grave. Watches her chest heave, watches her cunt swallow him whole, watches her as she fucks the life out of him.

 

“Yes, oh fuck yes! Evelyn. Maker!”

 

She isn’t able to maintain her grip on his hair, she needs both her hands to steady herself as she thrusts down and grinds against him. Then she doesn’t know what to do with her hands, loses function in her hands. Her nails scratch and scramble on his chest for purchase, for stabilization, for _dear life_.

 

“Cullen. Please. Yes. I’m coming.”

 

She leans all the way back, hands down on the bed by his knees, body in a sinful, curving arc above him. She screams and whimpers as she comes, stuttering and shaking and crying because it hurts so good.

 

He catches her before she falls, arm wrapping around the small of her back.

 

Maker bless her, she still moves, arms planted and hips surging back and forth.

 

Her dedication makes him weak and his climax overcomes him as he is inside of her, the closest to her he can ever be, buried to her very soul.

 

And he can’t even cry out, he just moans, washed away on tides of bliss.

 

She is kissing him as he guides her back to the bed, bathing him in kisses, drowning him in kisses.

 

He’s a trembling, sweaty mess, drained dry and half mute.

 

“I love you Cullen. So, so much.” She gasps between kisses.

 

He could only nod, eyes half-lidded but trained only on her.

 

There are nail marks on his chest. They burn like tongues of fire licking him. His hips are tingling, gone half numb under her attentions, feeling just now returning to them. But he still hears her, whispering her love with lazy kisses as she settles back down into sleep with him. And though he’s half hurting, and though he knows he’ll be sore to the Void and back when he wakes he can’t help but feel

 

Glorious.

 

Reborn.

 

Brand fucking new.

 

_Restored._

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look. I am so sorry for those puns. I am so. so. sorry.
> 
> One more?  
> How ya feel about that?

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are lovely!


End file.
